


Making History Alternate Prologue

by electroniccollectiondonut



Series: Making History Verse [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroniccollectiondonut/pseuds/electroniccollectiondonut
Summary: The original prologue for Making History. I ended up using a different version, but I like this one too much to just leave it in my drafts.





	Making History Alternate Prologue

Of all the ways he’d expected to die, casting himself to the sea had never been high on the list. His lips parted to draw breath, but all that came was water. It burned in his lungs, but after all that had happened over the centuries, it wasn’t terribly unpleasant. It was dark. The moon’s silver light didn’t pierce this deep, or perhaps his consciousness was fading.

Water rushed by his ears, the sound peaceful and soothing, and his mind drifted, thinking of his father and brothers and of his failure to fulfill the Oath. It hadn’t been so far from here, he thought, that he had first thrown his Silmaril to the sea so many years ago. It was foolish to believe that it might still be near, so he didn’t. Instead, he thought of why he had thrown himself in now.

There was a reason, a good one, he was sure, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He knew, at least, that it had involved a pair of horrified dark-haired twins and an awful storm, a fervent prayer to Ulmo and Osse and Uinen as he fell. Had the prayer been for his sake, or that of the twins?

A soft white light filled his vision, slowly defining itself into the shape of a person, then many. His brothers, his nephew, his father. Maedhros was the closest. The spectre had both hands and wore his hair long, as Maedhros had before Thangorodrim.

_ It’s alright,  _ said a voice in his head. It spoke in Quenya, but he hadn’t the energy to be startled.  _ It’s alright,  _ it repeated.  _ You’ve done well. Let us take you.  _ The argument was simple, but it came in a voice he hadn’t heard in millenia.

It wasn’t even a choice.

His family caught his hands in theirs, smiling gently. Maedhros ran spectral fingers through his hair and Celegorm sang quietly and Maglor let his eyes fall shut and the darkness claim him.

* * *

When he came to, he was in a bed. He couldn’t smell the salt air that announced proximity to the ocean. In fact, he could hardly breathe at all. He caught a glimpse of a familiar worried face hovering over him in triplicate, then his vision faded out again.

* * *

Vaire had started the spell and Namo had followed a moment later. Ulmo had been the one to end it. Kneeling before Iluvatar, that was all that the Valar could remember.

He cast His judgement and they felt the Music change, and then they were back in Valinor. Everything was wrong, but they had a chance to make it right.


End file.
